Cockblock Us More Often
by wearing-tearing
Summary: [Stilinski Custom Cakes #4] And no matter what Laura and Erica say, Isaac absolutely does not yelp, falls off his chair, and throws up a little bit in his mouth as he opens the box and sees a black forest cake with the words cockblock us more often written in whipped cream on top of it.


**A/N:** I'M BACK

i'd like to thank all of those who left me prompts at the end of all hail the panties queen. this is all your fault 3

and the prompts that inspired this story are listed at the end so you won't get spoiled or anything ~

* * *

Stiles watches as his fingers slide in and out of Derek.

He doesn't think he'll ever get over doing this, feeling Derek clench around him, the little choked up gasps and moans he makes when Stiles curls his fingers just right, how his hips buck up looking for friction Stiles won't give him just yet, and how he rocks back and fucks himself on Stiles' fingers as if asking for more.

Stiles knows he must look a little entranced right now – his mouth opened, eyes a little glazed as he watches, cheeks flushed -, but who the fuck can _blame _him?

Derek's ass is fucking _amazing_, okay?

And the thing is… Stiles _loves_ playing with it.

Whether is with his tongue, fingers, toys, or fucking him within an inch of his life, Stiles fucking _loves it_.

And judging by how Derek spreads his legs wider when Stiles licks over the stretched skin of Derek's hole and his own fingers, he has absolutely no complaints about it.

"Will you just go ahead and fucking _fuck_ me already?" Derek grunts, glaring down at Stiles.

Well, maybe Derek has _some_ complaints.

Not that Stiles is going to listen to any of them.

Because Derek looks so fucking _gorgeous_ like this, taking Stiles' fingers like he was _made_ for it.

So Stiles grins wickedly at his boyfriend, bringing his head up so that his breath is ghosting over Derek's cock.

He's not ready to stop playing yet.

"I'm not fucking you today," he says, licking a stripe from the base up.

Derek groans and thrusts his hips forward, and all Stiles can do to avoid being slapped in the face by Derek's dick is to open his mouth and swallow him down.

He keeps the rhythm of his fingers steady as he sucks Derek off, trailing his tongue over the underside of Derek's cock and moaning around him when Derek brings a hand to hold onto his hair and starts fucking his mouth. Stiles' eyes roll back into his head and he should be ashamed of the fact that all it takes is almost gagging on Derek's dick shoved down his throat to make him rut restlessly against the mattress looking for some kind of release.

But he's not.

Because Derek's dick is _awesome_.

God's gift to fucking _earth_.

That only pales in comparison to Derek's ass.

Which is full of Stiles' fingers right now.

Fingers he curls upwards once, twice, three times.

And then Derek's hand tightens on his hair and he feels Derek spasm around his him, feels the hot slide of come down his throat, some of it slipping past the corner of his mouth and down his chin and neck.

When Stiles looks back up he can see Derek breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, mouth bitten red, pupils blown, and his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.

Stiles promises he doesn't feel incredibly smug at the sight of Derek like this, completely fucking spent.

Really.

He's doesn't.

Derek tugs him by the hair and licks the come off of Stiles' face, running a hand down Stiles' stomach, and just as he's about to get his fingers wrapped tightly around Stiles' dick to jerk him off, Derek's phone rings.

"No," Stiles says firmly, glaring at Derek and holding onto his wrist when he makes a move to pick the phone up from its place on the nightstand.

"It might be important," Derek arches an eyebrow at him.

"So is my _dick_," Stiles snaps.

Because he's still hard.

And leaking.

And he really wants Derek's hands on him right now.

Or his mouth.

Or maybe his dick.

He's not picky.

"I'll let you jerk yourself off all over my back and come on my tattoo if you let me take this now."

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek, because that's not fucking _fair_. Derek _knows_ he's got a thing for his triskele – for all tattoos, really -, and that he's a kinky bastard, and that if it means getting to coat the ink up with his come, he's going to agree to it.

"_Fine_," Stiles grunts, finally letting go of Derek's wrist.

"Hello?" Derek answers, his brows furring in confusion as whoever's on the other side talks to him. "I'm kind of in the middle of something right now."

_Damn right_ he is.

In the middle of making Stiles come his fucking _brains_ out.

"Can't you call anyone else?" Derek asks, and then sighs. "Fine, I'll be there in fifteen."

"_What_?!" Stiles shouts as Derek ends the call and gets up from the bed. "Where the _fuck_ do you think you're _going_?"

"Isaac needs help," Derek answers, going through his drawers and grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs.

"_I _need help," Stiles says. "With my _hard cock_. And comingmy fucking_ brains _out."

Derek is putting his jeans on and has his back to him but Stiles can practically see him rolling his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Derek says over his shoulder.

"I hate you," Stiles flops back down on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes and whimpering. "I hate Isaac more. Tell him that. That I hate him for interrupting sexy times."

"I'll make sure he knows," and then Derek is moving Stiles' arm away from his face, pecking him on the lips, tugging lightly at the ring on Stiles' right nipple, making him groan, and then he's out of the room.

Stupid fucking _bastard_, that's what Derek is.

And Stiles will make sure to get back at him the first chance he gets.

But first Stiles closes his eyes at the sound of the front door closing, opens them again, looks down at his now half-hard dick and sighs.

His fucking _life_.

"What?" Stiles asks, looking from the object on top of the coffee table and then back up at Derek.

Derek doesn't say anything, just presses his mouth in a thin line and does something complicated with his eyebrows that Stiles knows by now it means he's expecting some kind of answer.

Like what he just springs up on Stiles is completely fucking _normal_.

And totally doesn't make Stiles' brain go absolutely fucking _blank_ the moment Derek drops the fucking _handcuffs_ on the table and tells Stiles he'd like to _try something new_.

And totally doesn't make Stiles' brain go absolutely fucking _blank_ the moment Derek drops the fucking _handcuffs_ on the table and tells Stiles he'd like to _try something new_.

As if they aren't in the middle of watching Say Yes To The Dress.

And Stiles isn't pretty fucking invested in the outcome of the bride's mother telling her she looks like a wrapped sausage in a mermaid styled wedding dress, and as if he isn't expecting _tears_ and _humiliation_ and _freak outs._

And now all he has is the buzzing in his ears because all his blood rushed to his _dick_ at the words Derek said to him.

"What?" Stiles asks again, because no one can expect him to be coherent after this.

_No one_.

Derek sighs a long-suffering sigh and rolls his eyes, "Stiles."

"Derek," he says, only to see Derek's face shut down.

"Nevermind," Derek says, making a motion to get the handcuffs back from the table.

Stiles doesn't regret launching himself at the table and grabbing the handcuffs before Derek can get to them, even when that means he falls off the couch and smashes his elbow on the floor.

He really doesn't.

"You really want to do this?" Stiles asks, rolling onto his back so he can look at Derek.

He doesn't think he could get up and off the floor now even if he tried. He's pretty sure he's glued to that spot when Derek's face goes from blankness to looking at him like he's a fucking _meal_ about to be _eaten_ and Stiles can't say he minds that much.

And floor sex can be pretty fucking hot.

But not when your boyfriend just asked you to _handcuff _him to the fucking bed.

"Only if you're okay with it," Derek leans forward so that he can see Stiles better.

Stiles makes a noise at the back of his throat and nods his head.

Because he's okay with it.

He's totally on board of the bondage train.

Oh, he's so fucking okay with this Derek won't even know what fucking _hit him_.

Or cuffed him to the headboard.

Stiles' dick twitches in his jeans.

"I'm okay with this," Stiles says, just to make sure, and licks his lips.

Derek smiles a small smile and lets his thumb brush over Stiles' bottom lip, groaning a little when Stiles opens up, nips at the finger and sucks it into his mouth.

"As much as I like you all spread out for me on the floor, I think it's best if we do this on the bed," Derek says, voice coming out a little thick.

Stiles gives one final suck before releasing the digit, and then he's up and moving off the floor and walking towards the bedroom, taking the handcuffs with him.

He's pretty fucking proud of himself when he manages not to stop and ask Derek if he's _sure_ and if this is _real_ and _will you let me do dirty things to you, your mouth, and the rest of your body for the rest of our lives_?

As soon as they're inside, Stiles closes and locks the door. He doesn't want a repeat performance of the last time Laura decided to drop by unannounced and invite herself over for dinner and caught them having sex.

Just in time to see Derek pushing himself down on Stiles' cock and coming all over Stiles' abs and chest.

They had to buy a new lamp to replace the one she broke on her hurry to _get the fuck out_.

It wasn't a good experience for anyone involved.

Except for Derek.

He got to come.

And Stiles can't wait to watch him fall apart now.

"Are you a hundred percent absolutely fucking _sure_ you're okay with this?" Stiles asks one more time, leaning against the closed door and looking at Derek, who's standing in the middle of the room.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't _a hundred percent absolutely fucking sure_," Derek says, arching an eyebrow at him.

Stiles swallows once, hard, and doesn't even bother to narrow his eyes at Derek mocking him. He's pretty sure there's no way in hell his life will get any better than having Derek ask him to be tied up and sexed up.

He thanks the heavens for Scott being a stupid fucking ball of sunshine and rainbows and puppies and the best friend in the history of best friends in the fucking _universe_ and insisting on him getting a tattoo to get over his ink kink.

Because then he met Derek.

And then he started dating Derek.

Derek, who doesn't mind that he's a kinky fucker.

And in fact _encourages_ him to be a kinky fucker.

A kinky fucker who's about to handcuff his boyfriend to the bed and do unspeakable things to him, on him, and in him.

Several times.

Because the hot piece of ass standing in front of him is all _his_ and he's _allowed_.

"Are you just going to just there?" Derek asks, his lips curving into a smirk.

Stiles shakes his head no, more to clear his mind of all the images of having Derek restrained, and then chuckles.

"Are you going to ask me if I plan on getting a tattoo next?" Stiles asks, remembering the first time they met.

"That's what most people want when they come to me," Derek answers, his eyes glinting.

"Well," Stiles says, moving until he's standing right in front of Derek. "What I want is to come _on_ you."

Derek snorts and hides his face between the crook of Stiles' neck and shoulder, bringing his hands to rest on Stiles' hips.

"I don't know what I ever saw in you," he mumbles. "That was awful."

"Sometimes I think you only wanted me for my cocksucking lips," Stiles sighs dramatically.

He feels Derek smile against the skin of his neck and he raises a hand up to trade his fingers through Derek's hair. He likes the way Derek relaxes more against him, their bodies pressed together.

"And that was a gorgeous look on you, Der," Stiles whispers, placing a kiss to the underside of Derek's jaw.

Derek hums in what Stiles takes as agreement and pulls back so they can stare at each other.

"I think you'll like this look better," Derek says, raising his eyebrows at Stiles as he turns on his back and strips off his shirt.

Stiles knows this is deliberate; Derek giving him his back, undressing, leaving the triskele on display for Stiles to see. So he doesn't waste any time in throwing the cuffs on the mattress and moving so he's behind Derek, hands on Derek's hips, breath hot and wet against the back of his neck.

"We'll see how it goes," Stiles breathes out, tilting his head down so he can start tracing the swirls of the triskele with his tongue.

He smiles in satisfaction when he hears Derek gasp, letting his hands snake around Derek's waist and make their way up his chest so he can scratch his nails over Derek's nipples. Stiles outright laughs when Derek groans and throws his head back.

"I love your sensitive nipples," Stiles says, licking at the exposed skin of Derek's throat and pressing his hard-on against Derek's ass.

"Shut the fuck up," Derek grunts, and tries to elbow Stiles in the stomach.

Only to have Stiles pinch his left nipple with one hand and bring the other one down to cup Derek's dick through his boxers.

The way Derek pushes his hips forward into Stiles' hand looking for friction and the choked up moan that comes out of his mouth is almost enough to make Stiles rut against Derek's ass until he comes in his jeans right then.

But Stiles doesn't want that.

He wants to _play_.

So he lets go of Derek and grabs the hem of his shirt, pushing it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Derek already has his own pants and socks off, and he settles for sitting on the bed wearing only his wine colored boxers and watching Stiles undress.

Stiles unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans easily, but he takes his time dragging the zipper down over his dick. He keeps his eyes on Derek as he slips his hands under his pants and pushes it down past his hips and thighs, and he has to palm himself when Derek zeros in on the wet spot on his boxers from where he's already leaking precome. He kicks his pants all the way down and steps off of them, walking so that he's standing between Derek's now spread legs.

He kind of really fucking wants to get his hands on Derek's hair and push his face down on his cock, but he won't.

He has _plans_.

Sexy plans.

That, unfortunately, don't involve him getting his dick sucked.

"Get back up on the bed and lie down for me," Stiles murmurs, leaning down so he can kiss Derek lightly on the mouth. "Hands above your head."

Derek does as he's told, climbing up on the bed until he's comfortable on the bed, head on the pillows, hands gripping the headboard, and the _dirtiest_ little fucking smirk playing at his lips.

Stiles grabs the cuff from the bed and crawls until he's straddling Derek's stomach. He dips his head down to rub their noses together as he traces his fingers over the veins on Derek's wrists, and then pulls his head up so he can see what he's doing.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time," Stiles warns him. "Are you _sure_ this is what you want? Because, even though I absolutely fucking _will_ stop if you say you don't want this anymore, I kind of really don't want to do it when we're in the middle of this."

"I'm sure," Derek says, and even though he's still smirking a little Stiles can tell his tone is dead serious.

"Good," Stiles exhales. "Because I don't think my dick could take it."

He really doesn't.

"You look fucking _beautiful_ like this, Derek," Stiles says as he leans down, placing open mouth kisses over Derek's collarbone and neck, sucking marks as he goes along, his hands coming up to rest against the cuffs on Derek's wrists. "Tied up for me."

And he does, he so fucking _does_ that Stiles has no idea what to do with him first. He has too many options, too many scenarios running through his head of all he could do to Derek right now, now that he's all spread out in bed like this, at Stiles' mercy, for Stiles to do as he pleases.

Because Derek trusts him that much, trusts him with _this_, that he'll make it good for him, for both of them.

Stiles bites his way up Derek's neck and jaw until he can press their lips together, moaning little as Derek opens up immediately for him. He kisses Derek slowly, lazily, mapping out the inside of his mouth with his tongue, pulling back a little to nip at Derek's lower lip before diving back in again. They stay like that for a while, just kissing, with Derek's hands cuffed over his head.

When Stiles finally decides to pull back, he does it only so he can get off of Derek and the bed and shuck his boxers down and off before climbing back in.

Only to have Derek frown at him.

"What?" Stiles asks, raking his teeth over Derek's chest before sucking one of his nipples into his mouth.

He can feel the wet patch of fabric from Derek's boxers against his belly and he rolls his hips down when Derek moves up, gasping at the friction.

"What?" Stiles asks again, releasing Derek's nipple to suck a mark over his chest.

"Why do I still have clothes on?" Derek replies, a little breathless.

Stiles raises his head to stare back at Derek's blown eyes, smiling wide.

The reason Derek is still in his boxers is because Stiles has a plan.

And he's not above being a little bit cruel about it.

Not now that he has Derek without being able to grab onto him and manhandle him into submission.

Even though that's really fucking hot.

And specially not when Derek left him to jerk off alone in the shower after walking out in the middle of sexy times to go help Isaac.

"Because you still haven't opened me up your with tongue," is what Stiles says instead as he shrugs, trying not to sound too eager about it.

He fails a little bit at it when his voice cracks at the end.

And with the way his dick twitches against Derek's stomach as he says it.

"Fucking _hell_," Derek hisses, throwing his head back and screwing his eyes shut.

Stiles pats Derek lightly on the cheek, "I'm gonna turn around now, okay?"

The only answer he gets is a _whimper_.

A fucking _whimper_.

Stiles swallows hard and tilts his head down to kiss Derek again, _rough _and _hard_ and _wet _and fucking _dirty_. And then he's moving off of him and turning around so he can straddle Derek's face.

He's about to ask Derek if it's okay for him to move down when he feels the wet swipe of Derek's tongue against his hole, making him jump forward and place his hands flat against Derek's abs.

"Fucking warn a guy," Stiles grunts, but by the way he pushes his ass back down against Derek's face and stubble he can't say he's too mad about it.

Derek only blows air against his wet skin in acknowledgement, making Stiles squirm. And then he's back to tracing his tongue over the rim, over and over and _over_ again, pushing his tongue inside and opening Stiles up as best as he can while he has his hands cuffed above his head.

Stiles feels sad for about a second or two over not having Derek's fingers inside of him, stretching him open, but then Derek gives this particular swirl with his tongue and all Stiles can do is rock back into him.

At some point he got his hand under Derek's boxers, and he's now jacking him slowly, smearing precome over Derek's shaft, cupping Derek's balls in his hand and tugging a little. And as much as he fucking _loves _what they're doing right now, he wants to move things along.

Move things along so he has Derek's dick on his ass.

He lifts his ass back up and away from Derek's tongue, turning on the bed until they're face to face again.

Derek's face is a fucking _mess. _His lips swollen and red, his mouth and chin shiny with spit.

Stiles thinks he looks fucking _beautiful_.

He kind of wishes he could stop and go look for his cellphone so he could take a picture of Derek like this and assign it as Derek's contact pic.

And possibly send it to Laura.

Because he still hasn't forgiven her for the lamp.

And for interrupting sexy times.

But all that happens is that Stiles' dick twitches and leaks precome and thinks Derek looks really fucking _hot_ and doesn't understand why there's no fucking happening yet.

"Why, facing seeing you here," Stiles drawls, smiling down at Derek and wiggling his eyebrows.

"If you don't get me naked and fucked in about three minutes, the first thing I'm gonna do when I'm free is to rip your throat out," Derek narrows his eyes and tries to move his arms, the cuffs cutting on the skin of his wrists. "With my teeth."

Stiles grabs the base of his dick and groans, "This should not be so fucking _hot_."

"Then get the fuck on with it," Derek grunts.

Stiles huffs at him and pinches both of Derek's nipples, rolling hem between his fingers.

"Bossy, bossy," Stiles mocks, grinning at the way Derek throws his head back and moans.

"_Stiles_," and that's a whine, ladies and gentlemen.

Let it be in records that Stiles Stilinski just made Derek Hot Guy Hale _whine_ just by playing with his nipples.

"Alright, Der," Stiles mumbles, letting go of Derek's nipples and tilting his head down to rub their noses together.

He climbs off of Derek and stops to kneel by his side on the bed, shifting his body so he can open the first drawer of one of their nightstand and get the bottle of lube they leave there. He pops the lid open, slicks his fingers, and places the bottle on the mattress before reaching down and pressing one of his own fingers inside of him.

"Fuck," Derek groans. "_Stiles_."

Stiles looks at him and smirks a little before adding a second finger, and whatever comment he was about to make of _you like that? Me opening myself up for you? Fucking down on my own fingers before I take you in? Hm, Derek?_ gets lost as he curls his fingers just right and almost falls off the bed.

By the time he has a fourth finger in they're both already _wrecked_. And Stiles is kind of proud of himself for not coming yet, just from watching Derek watch _him_ and trash on the bed without being able to _touch_, to open Stiles up with his _own_ fingers, to manhandle him just like he wants him and then fuck him _senseless_.

So Stiles does them both a favor and stops fingering himself, sliding down on the bed and moving so he's between Derek's legs. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of Derek's underwear and starts pulling them down, biting on his lower lip to keep from laughing as Derek mumbles that _fuck yes_ and _stupid fucking boxers_ and _I'm never wearing them again_.

They're both breathing hard as Stiles grabs the bottle of lube again, slicking Derek's cock as best as he can while trying not to touch him too much.

Because if Derek ends up coming all over Stiles' hands and his own stomach before Stiles is firmly sat on his cock, Stiles will _cut_ someone.

That someone probably being Isaac for cockblocking them yesterday night.

So excuse the fuck out of him if Stiles is more than a little eager to straddle Derek's lap and reach down between them so he can position Derek's dick at his hole.

The first pressure of Derek filling him up will always hurt a little. Being stretched out around him, taking every inch of him until Derek is pressed balls deep into him.

But Stiles _loves_ it.

He loves how it feels, how it hurts, how they fit together like they were meant to do this, have this, be this.

He loves Derek's little gasps and groans like he doesn't know what to do with himself while he has Stiles wrapped around him. The way Derek sometimes looks at him like he can't quite figure out how they got here - like Stiles is wonderful and _his_ and a crazy fucker who doesn't mind if Derek likes being cuffed to the bed or likes having his nipples teased while he fucks Stiles' mouth or likes drawing all over Stiles' body on lazy mornings when they're naked in bed and have nowhere else to be.

Stiles runs his hands through Derek's hair and grips _hard_, tilting Derek's head up so he can kiss him, fuck his tongue into Derek's mouth, bite down on his bottom lip, swallow down his groans and grunts and every little noise he makes as Stiles starts to roll his hips. He moves his head down to get to mouth at Derek's jaw, trace his tongue over his Adam's apple, bite and suck a mark at his pulse point.

He pulls back and runs his hands over Derek's chest, bracing himself with both hands against Derek's sides as he moves up slowly only to slam back down onto Derek's cock, closing his eyes as he tries to find the right angle. Not that he wants to come like this, with Derek inside of him.

Not this time, anyway.

So he shifts again, so that Derek's dick doesn't hit against his prostate at every snap of his hips.

"Stiles," Derek grunts, thrusting his hips back up, his hands gripping the headboard until his knuckles are white. "Would you move _faster_?"

Stiles looks down at him and raises an eyebrow, "Faster, you say?"

"_Yes_," Derek says, bucking his hips up with so much force that Stiles has to place a hand flat on his chest so he doesn't fall on his face on… well, Derek's face.

Thinking about it that doesn't sound so bad.

He doubts he'd be into all the blood and pain that'd come with, though.

Maybe.

"Fucker," Stiles grunts, getting his mouth on Derek's shoulder and biting.

He starts riding Derek in earnest, sliding up and down his cock as fast as he can, as his thighs will allow, clenching his ass around Derek's dick every other thrust or so. He doesn't move to jerk himself off, though, only thinking of making _Derek_ fall apart.

Making him fucking _wish_ he'd never tell Stiles to _move the fuck on_.

Not that having to ride Derek's dick like there's no tomorrow is such a hardship for Stiles.

He's pretty sure he could do this for-fucking-ever.

So he keeps moving, hands now coming to play with Derek's nipples as he slows down a bit, because Stiles is a fucking _asshole_ and no one ever told him he had to play fair.

Up until then Derek had been moaning _faster _and _harder_ and _Stiles_ and _fucking hell_ and _you feel so good_, but as soon as Stiles pinches his nails over one of Derek's nipples his mouth snaps shut only to drop open again.

No sound comes out.

Only harsh breaths as Derek pants and tries to figure out what he likes best: Stiles fingers on his nipples or Stiles' ass around his cock.

Stiles figures having both at the same time is making his brain short circuit.

Fucking _succeed_.

Stiles knows Derek is close, with the way he closes his eyes and bites and runs his tongue over his lips repeatedly, as whatever rhythm he had going flies out the fucking window. So Stiles, being the good person he is and deciding to help Derek out a little, speeds up his movements, curls in a little bit on himself, and latches his mouth over Derek's right nipple, biting and sucking at it while he pinches and rubs at the other one with his fingers.

It doesn't take long for Derek's entire body tense, his mouth to drop open and his head to be thrown back as he comes, turning boneless when his dick stops twitching inside of Stiles.

Stiles, who runs his hands up and down Derek's limp arms before picking up the key on the nightstand and unlocking the cuffs.

Stiles, who grabs his wrists and places kisses around the irritated patch of skin.

Stiles, who runs his fingers through Derek's hair and cups his jaw and rubs their noses together and kisses Derek lightly on the lips.

And now Stiles, who gets up and off of Derek, come running down his shaky thighs, and places a hand on Derek's hips and turns him so that Derek is lying on his belly on top of the bed.

Stiles straddles Derek's back, one hand coming up to tug at one of his nipples rings while the other goes down to trace the edges of Derek's tattoo. For a second or two Stiles contemplates the idea of tracing the design with his tongue, but his dick has been hard for fucking _ever_ and he still hasn't come yet. So he licks his lips and wraps a hand around his cock, moaning _Derek_ and _fuck_ over and over again as he fucks into his hand.

"Come on," he hears Derek urge him on, his voice hoarse. "Come all over it."

When Stiles thinks about it, he gets kind of embarrassed that it only took Derek saying that he wanted Stiles to come all over his tattoo for him to do so.

Maybe coming harder than he had in his entire _life_.

Not that he has all the functioning brain cells to think about it at the moment, as he rolls off of Derek and to the bed so he can catch his breath.

And so his brain can reboot.

Because he thinks it shut down due to Derek being so unbelievably fucking _hot_.

As soon as he can move his limbs again he raises a hand to the mess on Derek's back and tattoo, running his fingers through it and over it, smiling softly as he smear his come over the inked skin.

"Thank you for letting me do that," Stiles whispers, kissing Derek on the shoulder.

He might be an asshole sometimes, but he appreciates what he's got.

Especially when that's Derek.

Derek merely hums in response and scrunches his nose up a bit, staring at Stiles through heavy lids.

Stiles fights back the urge to coo at him.

"And now that we're both properly fucked out," Stiles starts. "Can I ask what brought this on?"

"Do you have to?" Derek sighs, closing his eyes.

"Not that I didn't enjoy having you tied up for me," Stiles says, because he _did_. Probably more than he should. "But I need to know if this is something you _need_, giving up control like that, or if it was really just for all the fun and sexy times."

"I don't _need_ it," Derek says, opening his eyes and smiling a little. "I just thought we could try it, see if we liked it."

"I liked it," Stiles says, licking his lips.

"I could tell," Derek rolls his eyes. "You enjoy torturing me."

"You torture me _all the time_," Stiles says, in mock hurt. "With your stupid _abs_, and your stupid _ass_, and your stupid fucking _face_. Don't even get me _started_ on your face, Derek."

Derek snorts and shifts closer, throwing an arm around Stiles' waist and pressing their bodies together.

"But seriously," Stiles says, patting Derek on the arm with his spunk covered hand. "What brought this on?"

Derek sighs and turns on his back so that he's staring at the ceiling, smearing jizz all over the sheets, but not before he takes Stiles' hand in his and starts licking at his fingers, cleaning him up.

"Remember when Isaac called me?"

Stiles blinks, because the sight of Derek doing that to him kind of made him forget what they were talking about.

"Yes…?"

He has no idea where this is going.

"He called me because he was cuffed to his bed," Derek mumbles.

Aaaand he's back.

"What?"

"He called me because he was cuffed to his bed," Derek repeats, more loudly, letting go of Stiles' hand.

"No," Stiles shakes his head. "I heard you. I just don't know how this is supposed to make any sense to me."

"If he'd called Erica or Laura, they wouldn't have let him leave it down," Derek starts explaining, and Stiles is still confused. "And calling Boyd is the same as calling Erica, so that left me."

"So that's why you left me hard," Stiles says slowly. "Because Isaac cuffed himself to his bed."

"He didn't _cuff himself_," Derek grunts. "He was with someone."

Stiles blinks again.

"He was with someone?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" Derek arches an eyebrow at him.

Stiles elbows him in the stomach, "Not the time to be cute, Derek."

Derek huffs and explains, "He was with someone. I don't know what they were doing because I don't want to know that about Isaac, ever, but this someone got a call and had to leave."

"And they left Isaac cuffed to the bed," Stiles says.

"Yes," Derek nods.

"And he called you."

"Yes," Derek nods again.

"To get him free."

"Yes."

"What does that have to do with us?" Stiles asks, exasperated, because he still doesn't understand.

Derek squirms a little bit in place and runs a hand over his face, and if Stiles didn't knew better he'd say Derek is _embarrassed_.

But Stiles does know better.

And everything just got a lot weirder as he sees the tip of Derek's ears turn red.

"Oh my _god_," Stiles says, throwing an arm over his eyes, because how is _this_ his_ life_. "You liked seeing Isaac handcuffed."

Of course Derek liked seeing Isaac handcuffed. Isaac is _hot_, and if Stiles didn't have Derek, he'd probably pay way more attention to Isaac's perfect bone structure and pretty eyes and shy smile and _of fucking course_ Derek liked it.

"_No_," Derek says fiercely and shifts so that he's on top of Stiles on the bed, wrenching Stiles' arm away from his face and pining it above his head. "How does your mind always jump to most ridiculous answer? I just… I liked the _idea_ of it, okay?"

Derek grunts in frustration, and this is one of the times when Stiles wished Derek was better at using his words. Because he doesn't like where his head is taking him right now.

"No," Derek says, shaking Stiles a little. "The idea of _me_ being like that. How you would react to seeing me that way, what you would do when I couldn't do anything back, just stay there, tied up, waiting for whatever you were willing to give me."

And Stiles blinks again, only this time because he likes what he's hearing.

He likes it so much he thinks he might be persuaded to use the handcuffs himself.

But that still doesn't explain Isaac.

Until Derek continues, "Isaac only has anything to do with this because he was the one who had an idea of what kind of cuffs I had to get for this, anyway."

Stiles lets his mouth drop open, "Oh."

"Yes," Derek says, placing a kiss on the corner of Stiles' mouth. "_Oh_. I don't see Isaac that way."

"Yeah?"

"He's not you," Derek shrugs and smiles down at him.

"In that case, I think I like Isaac again," Stiles says, and tries desperately not to turn into fucking _mush_ at what Derek just said.

"As opposed to when you didn't before?" Derek asks, shaking his head.

"He did call you in the middle of sexy times," Stiles says, wiggling his hips to show Derek he's getting ready for round two.

"I don't see you complaining now," Derek smirks, grinding his hips down and swallowing Stiles' moan with his lips.

"And Der?" Stiles whispers as he breaks he kiss, bringing a hand to rest against the skin of Derek's wrist and squeezing a little. "You were right."

"About what?"

"I liked this look better."

"Stiles told me to give this to you," Derek says, dropping a box in front of Isaac, who is sitting by the cash register, before promptly walking back out of the parlor.

And no matter what Laura and Erica say, Isaac absolutely _does not_ yelp, falls off his chair, and throws up a little bit in his mouth as he opens the box and sees a black forest cake with the words _cockblock us more often_ written in whipped cream on top of it.

He _doesn't_.

* * *

**A/N:** a lot of people asked for more isaac and i know this doesn't really fit the bill, but OH WELL

**tumbling_up**'s prompt was "Derek on his back, hands over his head and Stiles riding him until he's mute."

and **mauralee88**'s prompt was "I'd love to see them do something with Isaac. A one time threesome? Or he inadvertently introduces them to his favorite vibrator. Or he mentions something about how they should record themselves." but i changed it around a bit and she was gracious enough to let me ~


End file.
